Adaptation
by Anne Kerouac
Summary: "The reopening of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry requires all seventh year students from last term return in preparation for the N.E.W.T.s and graduation. The current administration would like to stress that all Hogwarts students enrolled in last year's term are required to repeat their year level as strict compliance to the Department of Education." (DM/HG, PostHPDH)
1. Professor Felix Grimmauld

**Chapter 1: Professor Felix Grimmauld**

"I don't quite understand you," the woman in a black coat concluded. She shuffled in her seat; the high chairs the bar offered were too uncomfortable for long hours of drinking.

"What part don't you understand?" The man beside her had a peculiar sense of fashion: orange tie to go with an electric blue tuxedo. What looked even more ridiculous on him was his hair colour—then again, the bartender supposed that this man had enough time on his hands to get his hair coloured in a different hue everyday. See, this specific customer came by every day to order the same drink.

Amaretto Sour was what he always had. Sometimes, he would order two but would prefer just one on normal, quiet nights. Tonight was a different night, however. Said customer had ordered two glasses (for his guest and himself) from that bottle of whiskey this customer had asked him to keep safe. It was some amber colored liquid that smelled toxic compared to the bottles of whiskey he'd serve his other customers.

"How can you possibly convince me to believe that the future of Hogwarts' inter-house relations depends on Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy?" Mr. Usual Customer's guest seemed to be in her early sixties or her late fifties. A tall woman, he should note, whose glasses seemed to be perpetually situated on the lower bridge of her nose. Whenever she would stop to listen to whatever Mr. Usual Customer had to say, she would lower her head and glare at him—unless that was her usual demeanor.

"I've _seen_ it, Minerva. Did you honestly believe that after the Battle of Hogwarts, the animosity between all the houses would finally come to an end?" Curious, the bartender thought, what is Hogwarts? What ever it was, it definitely sounded distasteful. He continued to wipe the glasses clean, inspecting every glass for a speck of dirt or smear of lipstick he might have missed.

"You might have forgotten the terrible path Draco has chosen two years ago, Felix. He was the reason the Death Eaters were able to infiltrate the school!" Her voice had risen slightly and although she seemed like she had more so say, she immediately pursed her lips to regain composure then after a while took a sip from her drink.

"Minerva," the bartender noted their names: _Felix and Minerva_. However, he was lost in the terminology used in their conversation. Death Eaters? Hogwarts? Even Minerva's name seemed unusual. The only word normal—or name, for that matter—mentioned in what the bartender could make of their conversation was Mr. Usual Customer's name, Felix. "Draco Malfoy had no other choice. There was no lapse of judgment in his actions. In fact, they were very much calculated. Imagine if young Draco had done anything against Voldemort's wishes… he would have had his head on a platter before he could call Miss Granger, _mudblood_."

The bartender noticed Minerva shuffle in her seat once more. He assumed it was something Felix had mentioned. It seems to him that this conversation (he had been so desperately eavesdropping in) had developed darker by every half hour that passed. Was it something to be nervous about? It seems that these two people had been involved in something dangerous and by gathering bits and pieces of the conversation, he assumed it involved an entire school.

He wasn't too far from the truth, of course. In fact, he was right on track. Except muggles such as this bartender wouldn't understand the gravity of the situation the wizard and witch had been discussing for nearly three hours.

Minerva seemed to have noticed the eavesdropper and shot a scathing look in the bartender's direction. Lowering her voice, she sighed, "I suppose you're right, Felix. If we are speaking in context, one could even consider his failure to murder the late headmaster a lack of judgment."

What Minerva McGonagall failed to understand was the internal conflict that Draco Malfoy had harbored the moment he had been "gifted" the Dark Mark. If there was anyone (apart from Pansy Parkinson) anywhere close to understanding this pain was Harry Potter. Harry was the only one made privy what Moaning Myrtle had to say about Draco—how he was sensitive and afraid. Although ninety-nine percent of his brain believed this to be utter bollocks, Harry Potter reserved one percent for some sympathy towards Draco.

The conversation Draco had with the late Headmaster Albus Dumbledore in Battle of the Astronomy Tower was enough to confirm Harry's measly percentage of sympathy towards the blonde-headed fool. He said _they_ were going to kill him. Harry knew who _they_ were. And after seeing Severus Snape's memories, he could not help but feel sorry for the Malfoy—for being used as a pawn.

Everyone else, however, spared Draco Malfoy no amount of sympathy. And by everyone, this included Minerva McGonagall. It wasn't until Felix Grimmauld had badgered her into taking a trip to Muggle London to somehow convince her that the boy and Hermione Granger was the key to stopping a possible civil war in Hogwarts. In short, this _vision_ suggested a possible salvation in Hogwarts that she found impossible until today.

Felix's proposition had been tempting, of course. Not only had it given her an entirely different perspective; it gave her a chance. Here was a chance to rebuild the school right. And as the appointed Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, she would allow no mistakes from here on.

The proposition? It was to appoint Hermione Granger as Head Girl and Draco Malfoy as Head Boy. Easy, right? Easy enough for the entire student body to revolt against the administration. And although Felix Grimmauld was one of the wisest wizards (and one of the most convincing seers) she had met, Minerva McGonagall wouldn't dismiss the idea that _maybe_ the war had finally performed its fair share on her dear friend's sanity.

Meanwhile, the bartender had felt as though had just trodden on a very, very dangerous path. His stomach would tremble whenever Minerva would glance towards his direction. Still, he couldn't help but wonder what these all meant. As his two customers delved deeper into their conversation, he would hear even more curious terms and would hear equally curious terms that were already mentioned earlier: Defence Against the Dark Arts, muggles, Hogwarts… what these meant, he didn't know.

"So you are telling me that you are willing to give up your retirement and come to Hogwarts as a professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts?" Minerva's eyes widened. If word got out that _the_ Felix Grimmauld were to become a Hogwarts Professor, the entire magical community would bow their heads in recognition. She would also need his wisdom in rebuilding the school. This was not a case of not believing in her capacity to run a school; it was more of the absence of Albus Dumbledore in a situation wherein she most needed him.

Felix Grimmauld had been offered the position of British Minister of Magic quite too many times and quite too many times he has declined the offer. Also, if it were not Albus, Felix would have most definitely been given the position of headmaster. Instead, the man had chosen to live a simple life, staying in Muggle London after he had retired as consultant to the Minister.

The man was brilliant and this was an understatement. At the age of twenty-four, he served as a visiting professor in Hogwarts for Magic Theory shortly after releasing a book on his study of Dementors. The said book has been awarded the _Nicolas Flamel Award, _the highest academic award given to a wizard or witch for an outstanding contribution to the archive of Magical Studies. Ever since he received such recognition, he had been most sought by many magical schools all over the world. Minerva always wondered as to why Felix refused the many tempting offers, opting to teach at Hogwarts as a mere visiting professor.

Some academicians ridiculed him for this, of course, thinking: why on earth would you decline every offer sent your way? And as wise as Felix Grimmauld may be, the answer sounded as equally simple to his proposition to the current Hogwarts Headmistress: he did not want the responsibility. It seemed selfish but he believed that taking on the responsibility of a professor would entail jeopardizing his researches that applied to both studying defences against the Dark Arts and defending himself against it.

They became friends in the fall of 1954. Felix was two years older than Minerva who had only turned nineteen. It was also the first time that Minerva McGonagall had gotten intoxicated with Firewhiskey. She was clumsily making her way through the massive crowd of the party to snatch her fourth goblet when an equally intoxicated electric blue-haired boy grabbed her hand, forcing her to dance with him amidst the crowd. And in a drunken stupor, she complied but stopped only halfway into the song as she excused herself, telling him how much she needed to use the loo.

Felix followed her (perhaps at the time due to his raging hormones) and sobered up when he watched her bawl her eyes out, pounding her fists on the sink, screaming, "Bastard, bastard, bastard!" Immediately, he realized that this was Minerva McGonagall, winner of the _Transfiguration Today Most Promising Newcomer Award. _If he could recall, he was two years her senior and while he was Head Boy and she, a prefect. The two never held an actual conversation and as far as their exchanges were concerned, were only about the shifts for nightly rounds.

She eventually opened up to him after his hour's worth of badgering and talked about a muggle named Dougal McGregor—handsome boy, apparently—and how she had been proposed to a few months ago. She cried about how it was so painful to leave this boy, that she was so very afraid of breaking the International Statute of Secrecy. She cried about how she chose magic over love, said that giving magic up would mean sacrificing her own life. The muggle did not believe this and assumed Minerva had another man, an assumption to which he took revenge by finding another woman.

Being the _noble_ Felix Grimmauld, he channelled all his anger drawn from _her_ situation and kissed her (whether or not she reciprocated he never really remembered). What he remembered was that sometime after his lapse of judgment, they decided to have some more Firewhiskey and ended up waking up in his flat in Muggle London, both with a massive hangover.

For around two years they became good friends in the office and outside the office. The common grounding they both had was this thirst and love for knowledge which became the primary reason as to why two of the youngest and brightest employees in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement decided to resign from their positions in order to venture off in their preferred fields.

Minerva McGonagall decided to apply for a post in Hogwarts as a professor in Transfiguration under Albus Dumbledore who was then the Head of Department. Felix Grimmauld chose to embark on a journey to study everything about Dementors. And because they had chosen slightly different paths, the two would lose connection until Elphinstone, Minerva's husband, died from a Venomous Tentacula bite.

Today, her oldest friend sat in front of her, with a proposition too tantalizing to forgo. Was she willing to gamble? Was she willing to risk such a thing during the reconstruction of Hogwarts?

"If you had wanted a Gryffindor, surely you could choose someone else. Take Harry Potter, for instance," the bartender caught every word and again, he could single out yet another curious word: _Gryffindor._

"Potter would not do, Minerva. You'll have to understand that my vision _required _Hermione. I could only assume that it had something to do with her blood purity. You see, despite the boy's actions in the past, he is still the most influential amongst all Slytherin students. If Draco Malfoy can abolish this idea of prejudice, then he can _influence_ his house to do so. The students are most vulnerable now; one could say that everyone, post-Voldemort…" he noticed McGonagall cringe, "…have another go at his/her formative years. The bigoted mindset these pure-blood children can be changed."

He allowed Minerva to speak but when the silence went on, as though it was her way of ushering him further into his tangent, "Look at the Japanese Muggles. I trust that you are a bright witch and that you know about the horrifying aftermath of the Second World War. Horrifying for them, at least. The Japanese had this idea that their Emperor—is what they call their Minister—is divine. They believed that their leader was a god that could perform miracles, and this was a belief no amount of magic can live up to. But of course, they're not like _us_; they believed in a godly man who was just a man. He had no powers, could not perform magic. Hirohito—that was their emperor, if I remember correctly—had to renounce his status of divinity, had to disillusion his entire country by proclaiming that he was not a god."

"So," Minerva cleared her throat, "you are telling me that pure-bloods, specifically V-Voldemort-worshipping pure-bloods are undergoing a state of disillusionment?"

"Yes. Precisely. These specific pure-bloods are mostly under the Slytherin house, who is led by none other than Draco Malfoy who, is in turn, hated by all the other houses for the events that occurred that led to the death of their late Headmaster. If Hermione Granger were to see through that and understand Draco's psyche, she would be able to influence the rest of the houses in seeing the good in Draco."

"Are you suggesting that Miss Granger and Mister Malfoy jeopardize their academics for this—this agenda?" she whispered dangerously.

"These are perfectly capable students, old friend. Miss Granger was constantly engaging herself in dangerous journeys with Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter while Malfoy was able to formulate a plan to kill the Headmaster. And, if my research remains true, both were still able to achieve exemplary scores up until the war began."

What a convincing man, Minerva thought. The bartender's heart was racing. He had tried to put two and two together, and he had come up with the conclusion that these two odd looking people most definitely did not belong to this country. They had been mentioning a war, a murder of a Headmaster, odd terminologies that he could never understand for the life of him. He had considered calling the police but he feared they might be armed.

"And if I agreed to this, Felix? How do you suggest you'd begin with this preposterous-sounding plan of yours?" She straightened her back and lifted her chin to examine him through her spectacles.

"We begin by releasing the memories of Severus Snape," he smirked as he watched his most favourite friend's eyes widen in horror.


	2. James the Bartender

**James the Bartender**

"We begin by releasing the memories of Severus Snape," he smirked as he watched his most favourite friend's eyes widen in horror.

"Felix!" Minerva said the name in fright. Yes, she had known the truth for quite some time, but had no plans in releasing the facts (not yet, at least) to the entire wizarding community—even if this meant clearing the good name of Albus Dumbledore's most trusted man, Severus Snape.

She understood that it was all too private; even Minerva herself had not seen the entirety of it. Harry Potter, may Merlin bless the boy, was the only person who had been privy to this said _truth._ It was only normal for the boy to confide in her these things. There was one night when she was transfiguring a couple of teacups into woollen socks and a sad Albus Dumbledore had come into her office.

"_Albus! What a surprise. I was just transfiguring some teacups into woollen socks. You know that I have no time for knitting them."_

"_Minerva," Albus sat down on an empty chair and offered her a lemon drop before continuing, "I suppose you're quite aware that I will be killed soon."_

"_What on earth are you talking about?"_

"_All I ask of you is to trust Severus Snape, my dear Minerva, for I trust him with my life," he said while unsticking two lemon drops from the can._

Looking back, what he had told her that night made a lot of sense now, especially after Harry had come running to her after the war with tears streaming down his face, asking her, "Did you know about this?" She didn't. She didn't know that Severus had sacrificed his life working as a double agent for the welfare of Lily Potter's only son.

She had suspected that once upon a time, a young Severus Snape had been smitten with a young Lily Evans. However, she did not expect him to have kept these feelings to his grave. And so, that night a couple of months ago just during the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, Minerva cried with him. Gone was the demeanor of the courageous Golden Boy. Here was Harry Potter, the boy in her arms crying for the death of his family, his father's friends whom he considered family, his mentor, his friends, and the man who had sacrificed everything for him.

The most important question as of this very moment was how on earth did Felix Grimmauld find out about this crucial piece of information?

"How did you…" at a loss of words, she let her eyes do all the conveying.

"A man never tells, my friend. But I know _everything._ About Snape's feelings for Lily and how he protected the boy." Felix bowed his head as though to honor Severus Snape.

At this point, she believed, she _should_ be alarmed. The paradox was that she left a sigh of relief—relief for she could finally discuss the "truth" with a friend. "It was a most heroic act that should never be forgotten."

"A civil war is coming, Minerva. If you disregard this, our beloved Hogwarts may never find unity for the next century. Everyone _will_ judge the next few generations of Slytherins because of what their fathers and their fathers' fathers have done. In return, the Slytherins will uphold their fathers' ideals as a form of retaliation and submission to the judgment of the rest of the houses. The foundation of a society outside the household is in school. Take note of that." Felix finished his glass of Firewhiskey and straightened his tuxedo.

"Think about it, my friend. You know where I live." He stood up and called the bartender with his name. "James!" James the bartender never knew how Felix knew his name. He hasn't ever recalled a single conversation with the eccentric man.

"Yes, Sir?" he quickly strode towards his two customers, knees slightly shaking from the amount of information he had just heard—or misheard.

"I am terribly sorry about this!" Felix grabbed his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the poor bartender. "Obliviate," he casted. This wasn't Felix's first time to erase the poor boy's memories. In fact, he would do so whenever he would have magical folk around. The bartender had the most magnificent set of ears, made for eavesdropping.

Minerva looked around, checking for spectators. On an ordinary day, this should not have been acceptable. However, she decided that it was for the best and had let the man go about his business. After keeping his wand, Felix bowed his head in Minerva's direction and apparated, leaving a stunned Minerva McGonagall behind and a blank James the Bartender.

* * *

Hermione Granger paced around her room. Her parents hadn't been happy with her after finding out _everything_, being obliviated and sent to Australia for their safety. She had tried to convince them that she had no other choice but to erase their memories at the time.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger's faces resembled Voldemort's pale skin, drained of all colour after Hermione shared bits and pieces of details about the second wizarding war, how she had almost been killed in the process but championed the fact that they had won in the end and that their efforts had not been in vain.

Mr. Granger had not been as _accommodating _as Mrs. Granger. In fact, when an owl came with a letter with the Hogwarts seal on it, he had almost ripped the letter into pieces until Mrs. Granger sent him a scathing look.

_Hogwarts School  
__of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Dear Ms. Granger,_

_The reopening of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry requires all seventh year students from last term return in preparation for the N.E.W.T.s and graduation. The current administration would like to stress that __**all Hogwarts students enrolled in last year's term are required to repeat their year level**__ as strict compliance to the Department of Education._

_Should a student wish to cancel/defer his or her enrolment, a parent or guardian (unless the said student is of age) is advised to write a formal letter to the school stating a valid reason for the cancellation/deferment of enrolment._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
__Headmistress_

* * *

After reading the letter aloud, another letter fell from the envelope. The second letter had used a different type of parchment; the scent of it was different, too. Instead of reading the letter out loud (as she did with the first one), she decided to scan the letter first before handing it over to her mother.

_Dear Hermione,_

_I would have sent out a letter following the usual template but I felt that this request should be written personally._

_First of all, I would like to thank you for your great sacrifice and the services you've offered to the welfare of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I suppose Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley wouldn't have survived out there without your ability to think and perform under pressure. For that, I thank you once more._

_The current administration of Hogwarts has decided to appoint you as Head Girl and Draco Malfoy as Head Boy. (If you find this letter at all ridiculous or if it has induced any rage on your part so far, I understand this completely.) This may appear as a rash decision to you, but I'd like to assure you that we have thought about all possible consequences to this implementation—should you both agree to this year's proposed arrangement._

_I will discuss with you the details soon after you've sent me your response. By then, I do hope that you've had given it much thought._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor McGonagall_

* * *

Hermione's jaw dropped. What on earth was Professor McGonagall thinking leaving the responsibility of the student body's welfare to the person whose actions of _severe _lapse of judgment had led to the killing of countless students and professors at Hogwarts? She needed to sit down; her happiness from the news regarding the Department of Education's decision to let all students repeat their year levels was completely washed away by this horrible turn of events. McGonagall must have gone bonkers, she concluded, muttering to herself.

"Dearest," Mrs. Granger said warily, "is this Draco Malfoy the same Malfoy boy you've been complaining about for the past seven years?" Complaining was an understatement; Hermione, Ron, and Harry had been plotting his demise since he first called her, _mudblood._

She would have her doubts about him, of course, thinking he was just some confused boy following his father's footsteps. These doubts would completely wander off after being taunted for having buckteeth or for having bushy hair. Once, sometime around five years ago, she punched him square on the nose—not remembering the exact reason, though.

Before Hermione could respond to Mrs. Granger's question, Mr. Granger had taken the letter from Hermione's hand and crumpled it. "You are not going back to that bloody school. I am going to write that school of yours that they can bugger off and leave us alone. You've had quite-too-many near-death experiences since you first got that invitation to study there!"

"But it's different now, dad. Voldemort's dead. The only harm that I can ever come across is if I were daft enough to blow my own cauldron up!" She turned to her mother for support, but the way she averted her eyes means that there was no way Mrs. Granger would dare go against an angry Mr. Granger.

"Go to your room. No more discussions about magic or anything that has got to do with that _world_." The finality in her father's tone had said it all.

Hermione's eyes widened in panic; she couldn't bear the idea of not finishing her studies! "Mum, say something! You can't possibly do this to me. I'm of age!"

"Until you decide to live under someone else's roof and not mine, you will do as I say. Go to your room. Now." They spent a good whole minute glaring at each other, Hermione's tears welling up as her head spun in fury.

In the end, she had no choice but to comply. She was right, though, when she said she was of age. And the Hogwarts letter specifically stated that unless and until the student is of age, the parents are required to write the letter. The only hope she had now was that the letter—if ever her father would send one—would be considered nullified because of the age conditions.

The moment she shut her door, hot tears began streaming down her face. This was no time to cry. She had won the war alongside Harry Potter and winning against her father shouldn't be too much of an obstacle. For now, the wisest thing to do was to write her friends, hoping they could do something—anything to help.


	3. Draco Lucius Malfoy

**Draco Lucius Malfoy**

The war has been won. Witches and wizards in every inch of London were drinking to their hearts' content or were spreading war stories. In a normal wizard's point of view, there was no longer anything to fear. However, Draco Lucius Malfoy was not a normal wizard. Being the son of Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy (née Black) and having the scar from the faded Dark Mark on your arm meant that Draco will be forever be subject to prejudice. He believed he deserved this, though. No amount of repentance could make up for the horrid things he had done for the past two years.

It didn't help when that blasted letter from Hogwarts arrived via owl, asking him to come back as a student and to take the responsibility of Head Boy. He was beginning to think that McGonagall had finally gone bonkers. The first letter had been an obvious template but the second one had Minvera McGonagall's handwriting and had addressed him so personally that it made him rather… uncomfortable.

_Dear Draco,_

_I'm writing you personally to tell you that the administration has decided to appoint you and Hermione as Head Boy and Girl for this coming term. I know this seems rather ridiculous to you, but I assure you that this is no joke and that this has been thoroughly contemplated on. You may perceive this as a sort of redemption for certain past actions. I expect you to get doses of good night's sleep on this; I will be expecting your immediate response and should you wish to accept the said responsibility in both letters, I will summon you and Miss Granger for a meeting to discuss the details of this arrangement._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor McGonagall_

He wasn't quite sure which was worse: his being appointed as Head Boy and the flack he'd surely draw from it or being appointed as the Head Boy _with_ Hermione Granger as Head Girl.

Draco couldn't help but roll his eyes. But of course they would appoint her as Head Girl—Golden Girl, Hermione Granger, who saved the world beside the Golden Boy and the useless Weasley. He supposed he should give the trio an amount of credit after saving him from the Fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. The idea of being saved by Harry Potter was mortifying, to say at the very least.

He stared out his window to see his mother pour his father a cup of tea. Admittedly, he has never seen his parents so serene and for once in his life, he felt grateful to Harry Potter for giving him another shot at life. Draco supposed following the Dark Lord's wishes was worth it, if it meant keeping his parents alive.

After the Dark Lord's defeat, he and his family spent quite some time sitting in the Great Hall, contemplating if they had belonged there at all. To save face, Lucius opted that he and his family apparated back to their Manor, which had been left unscathed (much to the relief of Narcissa).

Since then, the family had kept to themselves, not bothering with whatever news the magical community had to offer. Draco spent most of his time in his room, reading books he had bought in the past but was unable to touch.

Narcissa, on the other hand, seemed to have developed a compassion for her house elves, giving them clothes as a form of freedom. Draco and Lucius snickered, thinking this was a certain manifestation of her shock from the war and snickered even more when the elves refused her gifts, wailing how Missus Malfoy had gone bonkers!

The difference in Lucius could be seen in the amount of time he would remain silent. Most times, he would not even bother contradicting Narcissa when she voiced out her opinions over dinner or lunch. Another thing noting was the amount of weight his father had lost to which Narcissa would try to address by asking the house elves to add an appetite-increasing potion in his food. Most times, though he would push his food around and prefer to drink his tea.

These were, perhaps, the only way that the Malfoys could cope with defeat and mortification. They knew their time in solitude is numbered and that they had to come out to the world again. Though no one spoke about it, they were all equally afraid of how the wizarding world would perceive them—either cowards or traitors was the assumption.

The said silence had been ruptured the moment Draco noticed an owl with the unmistakable Hogwarts seal flying towards his window. And when he read the name, Hermione Granger, on Professor McGonagall's second letter, the memory of Hermione's shrieks in the Malfoy Manor kept replaying in his head. Draco hated the girl for her blood, exceptional brains, and talent but he didn't hate her enough to be able to stomach the torture his Aunt Bellatrix did to her.

He saw it. The word, _mudblood_, carved onto her arm glowing bright red even after the battle. He saw her desperately trying to pull the sleeve of her shirt down to her arm where the wound had been. In fact, he was watching Hermione Granger the entire time when he sat in the Great Hall where she sat yards opposite his direction.

Relief, was it? And warmth, inconceivable warmth that she had given her friends when she realized that the war had been won. Draco could not forget the expression on her face as she and her friends sobbed for the death of Fred Weasley. How could anyone handle such a mixture of emotions? There was relief, happiness, and grief.

He couldn't help but wonder how they had been faring, how they lived their lives. How did the war affect their manner of living? Did they have tea in the afternoon as though it were the most normal thing in the world? Maybe he shouldn't care, though. Maybe it was best that he had left those thoughts alone and focused on his life instead.

McGonagall's letter offered a second chance. Redemption, if he were to use her term. But how was he supposed to accept this, fully aware that he would simply be mocked by his schoolmates? Draco Malfoy, the traitor. Draco Malfoy, the coward. They knew how these kids' minds worked; they would immediately think that he had tipped the school off for this position. Nevermind his being appointed with Hermione Granger—he could deal with that later.

Should he discuss this with his parents? They have not even discussed his schooling, yet. All this time he assumed homeschooling was the next step. This was most definitely not expected.

"Draco," Narcissa set her fork down after noticing her son fidget in his seat for the fifth time, "is anything the matter?"

Her son looked up and instead of responding, he turned to his wineglass for a large gulp of Sherry.

"Answer your mother, son," said the older Malfoy. Although there should no longer be the fear of being hit by the father, Draco couldn't help but flinch at his tone—especially now that his father rarely spoke.

"Hogwarts wrote me." He wished that they wouldn't pry further but his parents' expression urged him to indulge them. "McGonagall wants me as Head Boy." Lucius momentarily choked on his food while his wife's mouth fell agape.

"Have you checked the legitimacy of the letter?" Narcissa asked him, eyebrows furrowed in anxiety. Oh but he has. He had tried burning the letter but it simply wouldn't burn. And every time he would try to rip the Hogwarts seal off any of the two letters, the animals on the seal would create furious noises.

"I have. It's real, mum," said Draco while trying to avert any eye contact with his parents.

After Lucius composed himself, he took his goblet and slowly finished its contents. Minerva McGonagall must be up to something, he concluded. There is no logical reason for her to appoint his son after everything that the Malfoy family has done for the Dark Lord.

"The Department of Education wants all the students to come back to repeat their year levels. I guess it's only logical…" his voice trailed off as he twiddled his thumbs then continued with a hesitant tone, "…logical, you know, after what happened." _After what we did, _was what he really wanted to say.

"Why would Minerva appoint you as Head Boy, th—" Narcissa asked but was cut off by Lucius who called for a house elf, his voice booming, "Stimpy! Bring me the letters from Hogwarts!"

"Stimpy will bring Master Lucius the letters!" The elf appeared then disappeared with a loud crack, then appeared again with the letters in his tiny, calloused hands.

Lucius snatched the letters from Stimpy's hands but apologized when Narcissa slapped his hands to which she matched with a glare. Clearly, this elf-loving wife was not one to tolerate his foul attitude towards elves.

He placed the letters between his and Narcissa's placemat. "Granger?" he tried to calm himself down before he raised his voice. "They want to partner you with that _mudb—_"

"Lucius!" Narcissa exclaimed.

"They want to partner you with Granger? What is the meaning of this?" he continued, the anger rising in his voice.

"If I knew, do you think I'd be as quiet as I am now? Merlin, curse me! I honestly think McGonagall wants my head on a silver platter and this is her grand gesture of doing it." Draco ran his fingers through his hair then buried his face in his hands

"Accept it," said his mother. Both the Malfoy men's attentions snapped to her direction, both not knowing whether to agree or protest. "I don't think the school administration would judge our son for his past actions. They very well knew why he had done it. There was no other choice."

* * *

Meanwhile, a tabby cat sat by a bell-shaped bush near the window leading to the Malfoy Manor's dining hall. It sat stiffly and listened in to the rather loud ongoing conversation of Draco, Lucius, and Narcissa Malfoy.

"Mum, they're going to eat me alive there. They hate me!"

"That's not true, dearest. You have your friends. You have Pansy and Blaise. Not to mention those two boys that follow you around Vincent and Gregory were they?"

"Crabbe's dead, mum. I don't even know where Goyle is now. I haven't talked to Pansy and Blaise either. I don't have anything to go back to there."

"You will finish your schooling, boy. And you will be Head Boy unless Minerva McGonagall revokes her _administration's_ decision."

"I thought we considered homeschooling?!"

"Dear, that's ridiculous. You can't keep hiding in that room of yours buried in books forever."

"Your mother is right. Did you think we didn't notice how you've been shying away from everyone? You are going to take your N.E.W.T.s and I expect you to perform better than that mud—sorry—Granger girl."

"But Father, I thought you agreed that McGonagall was bonkers?"

"Draco Lucius Malfoy, if you keep resisting the way a good mother and father would raise their child, then you might as well pack your belongings and leave this house."

With that, the house fell silent and after a few more minutes, the tabby cat transformed into an anxious Minerva McGonagall who disappeared after a loud crack.


	4. Author's Note

**Author's Note**

This note wasn't originally supposed here, but I wanted to put in this edit to grab your attention for just a bit before going on with the story (or you could just click "next" if you really can't stand A/Ns). Now, I plan to write this story by beginning it at a slow pace. Contrary to popular belief, I don't believe that all stories should just go straight to the point. I don't just write fanfiction for the hell of it; I write because I love to let the words mold into the picture to create the setting and mood of a story. If you're one of those readers who fancy reading fanfiction just to read Hermione and Draco snog and get it on a.k.a. shag, then this is not your story.

Adaptation, I presume, will be a bloody long ride for all of you. As a creative writer (in real life), I must admit that the amount of detail I put into this story is based on thorough research and calculated risks applied on the page. This story loves to go into the lives of characters. For example, one of the future chapters will deal with Narcissa Malfoy, her frustrations as a mother, a possible lover she had let go of. The possibilities are countless and I believe that a story deserves detail and crafting. It will not shove cliché lines of Hermione's undying love for Draco nor will it give you some abominable plot twist that hasn't been calculated. My pet peeve is deus ex machina and I promise I will not give you that.

Lastly, I'd also like to say that this fanfiction is open to suggestions and constructive criticisms a.k.a. reviews. Who knows? I might even include them into the story. Adaptation loves to _adapt_ after all. Cheerio!

— Anne Kerouac


	5. Hermione Jean Granger

**Chapter 4: Hermione Jean Granger**

_Dear Harry,_

_How are you? No word from you! It seems like ages since I've seen you and Ron even though it's only been a month. Anyway, I assume you've already received the letter from Professor McGonagall about the new requirement of the Department of Education. _

_I'm having such a hard time with mum and dad in trying to convince them about going back to Hogwarts. After hearing about… um, everything… well, let's just say that they weren't too pleased about being named Wendell and Monica Wilkins and being sent to Australia._

_Oh, Harry, I'm miserable here. I don't know what to do! I can't miss N.E.W.T.s! Merlin knows how many readings I've already been behind on since the start of last year! What makes it even worse is that McGonagall wants me as Head Girl and Malfoy Head Boy! _

_I'm sorry for ranting. It's just it's been a while since I've heard from you and Ron. How is he, by the way? I haven't exactly spoken to him since the wake of Fred, Tonks, and Remus. I reckon he isn't taking it too well. Not that I expect anybody to. Anyway, I was hoping we could meet soon. I think I'll need an escape plan._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

* * *

She tied the letter to the owl's leg and it flew off in excitement, forgetting the nuts she had laid out for him around an hour ago. The jumpy little owl she bought two Christmases ago had proved useful, naming him Sirius after Harry's dead Godfather.

Initially, she had wanted to write Ron. But it had been complicated with him after they kissed in Chamber of Secrets. Yes, it was bound to happen. After all, the tension that had been brewing between them throughout the entire war was beginning to become heavier by every near-death experience they would encounter. Destroying the horcrux in the Chamber of Secrets was the final trigger.

The kiss was everything Hermione had imagined it to be. Nothing like her chaste, sweet kisses with Viktor Krum and she didn't feel violated like when Cormac McLaggen had kissed her. Her first kiss with Ron had been passionate, almost felt like she was in an Audrey Hepburn movie.

And before the new-found love could even blossom, they find out about Fred's death if that wasn't enough, Ted and Remus had joined the obituary page. Any possibility of a blossoming relationship had turned into ashes similar to Voldemort's.

She had tried to be there for Ron; she really had. But the grief that had enveloped him seemed like this cocoon that she could never break. After the wake, she had decided to leave for Australia to look for her parents. The goodbyes had been brief and so was his kiss to her goodbye. The second kiss felt different, obligatory.

Hermione supposed it was best to wait it out for a while, let the grief settle. Anyway, if everything turned out well, they would be able to spend the entire year in Hogwarts—plenty of time to sort their feelings out.

It could've been perfect, really. Harry and Ginny. Ron and Hermione. That is, if she were _that_ naïve. They've been playing tug of war for quite some time and Hermione supposed she had realised just how much she had felt for him in Fourth Year, Yule Ball. Problem was, Hermione wasn't sure whom Ron was jealous of: Viktor or her? Ron had been a huge fan of Viktor Krum but whenever she would talk about him, he didn't seem pleased at all. She supposed he was jealous that Viktor had been showering her with attention, but when Yule Ball came, there came Ron in his horrible looking dress robes.

He told her in a nonchalant manner how Viktor had been _using_ her, how Viktor had been too old for her. If she had enough courage to do so, she would've slapped the ginger-haired boy. Instead what came out of her mouth was what really twisted his knobs. Sobbing, she told him to pluck to courage next time to ask her out before someone else did. Ron dismissed it, of course, being the pubescent fourteen-year-old he was.

In sixth year, Ron had broken her heart for the last time when he and Lavender began to date. Before the war had broken out, she would shudder at the memory of Lavender's voice echoing throughout the Great Hall—or any hall for that matter—calling out, "Won-won!" She would shower him with kisses and feed him excessive amounts of chocolate. Now that Lavender's dead, Hermione couldn't help but feel sorry for the girl.

It was probably the war that had finally triggered the feelings to come out of their shells, that idea that they could be killed anytime soon. During the time they had spent searching for horcruxes, the hugs became longer and tighter. At nights, just before falling asleep, Hermione would lay out her hand just about at Ron's reach. And when they would wake up in the mornings, they'd find their hands clasped together so firmly as though they had been gathering strength from the other to protect themselves from nightmares.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione would talk about their lives; they would talk about their memories—sometimes it would be dark, sometimes funny, sometimes peaceful. They liked talking about their future, what they wanted to do _exactly _after the war was over (assuming they were all still alive). Once, Ron had told them just how much he wanted to hex Cormac McLaggen the moment the war ended (also assuming he would still be alive). They also confirmed Ron's inferiority complex to Percy after finding out he'd been appointed Head Boy. He said he felt so bad about it that he refused to speak to Percy _and_ his mother for weeks—because she had coddled the older brother far too much, said Ron.

Sometimes, they would talk about their fears. All three had a similar fear of death, but each had his/her own way of imagining it. Hermione was most afraid of being killed not by Voldemort but by Bellatrix Lestrange. Harry said he was afraid he wouldn't be reunited with his parents, Sirius, and Dumbledore after his death. Ron said he was afraid of dying the way a muggle would die: a slow and painful death.

These were the little things that made her fall in love with Ron. She marveled at just howhuman the boy could think and perceive things.

Maybe that was why she understood the sudden coldness from him. It was because he was only human. And humans have a tendency to act like this. Everyone has a method of coping with grief. For now, what preoccupied her mind was to get back to Hogwarts—the sooner, the better. Given that she had already finished reading all books available in her room, she decided to leave for Piccadilly, London where one of the biggest selections of literature books was available.

* * *

"And where are you going? I don't believe we've discussed your arrangements here, where your home is?" Hermione's father said while checking his teeth in the mirror for dirt.

"I'm going to the bookshop. I won't be having supper here. Cheerio." Hermione's heart was pounding madly. Her knees grew wobbly with every step she took towards the door and noticing that there came no protests from her father, she immediately slipped out and exhaled deeply. "I thought I was going to go bonkers there," she muttered to herself.

How long has it been since she had taken the bus? Years? Normally, she would borrow her father's car or apparate. Today, however, she decided to take the bus like a normal muggle.

If she hadn't been in the best mood she has been for days, she would have told a cheeky muggle boy to bugger off after he had tried to ask for her number. As a sly move, she began speaking in what little she knew of French which intimidated the boy enough to stop talking to her.

Today was Hermione day, she decided. How long has it been since she had this much time to herself? When she had gotten down somewhere along Piccadilly, she gasped in excitement. The place had changed so much just a few years! There were new shops she had never even heard of, new coffee shops, more cars, and more muggles using cellular phones.

After staying and studying in the wizarding world for so long, the idea of technology would sometimes alarm her, how it was constantly evolving as though there was no time to lose. She had only gotten acquainted with her beeper when everyone started ditching them for a cellular phone. Muggles were becoming more and more dependent on technology the same way wizards are dependent on magic, she noted.

Hermione Granger adored bookshops for two reasons. One: she loved books—the smell, the sight, the feel of the paper, and the knowledge that it gave. Two: reading books entailed the possibility of meeting a person who would share the same perception on a book she would pick up.

Part of her felt sad that things did not immediately pick up with Ron. She felt sadder that it might never pick up. Perhaps the connection they developed in the war only developed because of that nagging fear of death. Now that it was all over, everyday she would find herself unable to envision her actually _dating_ Ron. There were visions of her being the mother of Ron's children but she realised they were far too young for that.

She couldn't even imagine herself having sex with Ron. One voice would keep telling her just how awkward that would be. Nevertheless, she pushed those matters aside, thinking it was selfish to prioritize a relationship over the recent deaths of their friends.

Before enrolling in Hogwarts, Hatchard's Bookshop had been her haven weekend for as long as she can remember. Later on, the shop would be called Hatchards. It was here where she had read her first book, Pride and Prejudice. Eventually, the bookkeepers would learn her name, where she lived, and how she was able to read such _advanced_ books at the age of four. They would give her tea and cookies while she moved on to Shakespeare. She grew up practically living in the shop, to say at the very least.

Once, when she had come home after her first term in Hogwarts, a boy came up to her asking what the book in her hands was about. Elated, she chattered on about James Joyce and his beautiful way of crafting Ulysses, how it had been his stream of consciousness. In the end, the poor boy must have been intimidated by her and left after profusely apologizing that he had to leave because his mum needed him to boy potatoes.

Since then, she would secretly dress nicely for her trips to Hatchards hoping to meet a nice boy. Sadly, the boys that came up to her couldn't keep up with her speaking at the rate of a hundred words per second.

The scent of Hatchards enticed her. Bookshops always smelled nice, she concluded as she smiled at the fresh new copies of Neil Gaiman's new book, _Stardust_. Taking one and tucking it safely under her arm, she made a beeline for the available stool.

* * *

Draco Malfoy looked very, very lost. This wasn't exactly the bookshop he had in mind. It seemed to him that he had apparated to Muggle London and not to Diagon Alley. Still, this bookshop did seem inviting, with its nice scent and all. He had been reading muggle literature since his mother has offered him a pile of muggle philosophy books and poetry, telling her son how it "enlightened" her with how similar muggles and wizards thought. Eventually, he grew a liking for muggle literature—much to Lucius' disdain.

_Hatchards,_ the sign read, _Booksellers since 1797._ "So it was established sometime around _Wand Repair_ was established. Hmm," he muttered to himself.

Some muggles eyed him and his weird outfit. He could see muggles walking around talking into some small contraption; most of them were black, though some were coloured red or blue. "Muggles and their inventions," he muttered to himself once more. (Talking to himself had become a habit since he hadn't had anyone to talk to.) Draco had read about their inventions. Some, he found, were actually really smart. And some he merely rolled his eyes at.

Since emerald green robes made him stick out like a sore thumb, he went to a deserted corner and quickly transformed his clothes to blend in. After doing so, he noticed some muggles ogling at him, the odd, pale boy walking gingerly inside the bookshop.

He stared at the large stack of books on the shelf, only to discover that Neil Gaiman—may Merlin bless his muggle soul—had released a new book! With a goofy smile on his face, he picked up a book for himself, and walked around for an available couch.

Draco's impatience was growing and he was very, very close to transfiguring one of the books on the shelves into a seat until a brown wavy-haired girl stood up with her nose still stuck inside the same book he had in his arm. Gaiman's new book must be that good. He chuckled slightly at the equally odd girl, wishing he could see her face. Was she near sighted? At a certain angle, she resembled Hermione Granger—a well-endowed Hermione Granger, he noted, looking at her chest. Without putting the book down, the girl quickly dashed towards the cashier and he made his way to the now available seat. And immediately, he had been immersed in the world of literature, drowning all possible sounds and stigma from the background.

* * *

Meanwhile, Hermione Granger's heart pounded. Actually, it was still pounding. What in Godric Gryffindor's good name was Draco Malfoy doing here, in Muggle London, let alone a muggle bookshop!?

There was no doubt it was Draco Malfoy the moment he had apparated in front of Hatchards. Had she not looked up from _Stardust,_ she wouldn't have been able to hide her face. And what a clumsy boy! How could he transfigure his clothes _inside_ the shop? What if a muggle had walked by that corner?!

What bewildered her the most was his expression. It was happiness, if she wasn't mistaken. Happiness derived from seeing a newly published muggle book, to be exact. Has the world finally come crashing down the prejudiced head of Draco Malfoy? What scared her most was when he looked in her direction while looking for a seat. Did he notice her?

After hastily paying for her book, she ran out clutching to the bag in her hand and her chest in the other. Should she go back and talk to him before the tern started? She wanted to ask him so many things, clear up issues. But she couldn't, no. Not after the horrible things that his Aunt Bellatrix did to her.

She rolled up her sleeve to examine the scar that bore the word, _mudblood. _The memory had been too horrific and its memento even more horrifying for it brought back the entire night to her head. She could remember her own bloodcurdling scream, as Bellatrix carved that dreaded word into her skin. Even worse was Hermione couldn't find anything to heal the scar fully, and after days of reading up on scars inflicted by magical knives, it dawned unto her that word was imprinted there forever. Without thinking any further, she apparated to the Leaky Cauldron. A glass of strong Firewhiskey was in order.

**A/N: Remember, a review a day keeps Voldemort away!**


	6. Stardust

**Chapter 5: Stardust**

_Dear Hermione,_

_I'm sorry I haven't been writing at all recently. Ginny's been throwing fits because of Fred's death. Ron has, too. We went to Lavender's wake while you were away, hope you didn't mind that we sort of left you out. I think Ron feels really guilty about her, I don't know. Anyway, after the whole hullabaloo, I went back to Privet Drive to check up on the house there, did some cleaning myself. Been staying at Grimmauld Place, fixed the place—you should come over!_

_McGonagall's letter was a bit of a shocker, actually. I'd had expected her to at least wait a year before reopening Hogwarts. Still thinking about it, really, whether I want to study or not. But since you're planning to, I'm beginning to consider going back to school._

_Ah, right. About Malfoy being Head Boy… Are you sure about that? I mean… have you actually spoken to McGonagall? It seems too unreal for her to think that. He almost killed Dumbledore under Voldemort's orders. I think it'd be best if you paid her a visit yourself before accepting anything. You never know, this might be a trap. Just be wary, Hermione. Lots of people are angry with us for defeating Voldemort._

_Give me your address in your reply to this letter so that I can apparate to you immediately. Also, this new owl's name is Helga. You might want to give her the nuts you used to feed Hedwig; I think she'll like them very much._

_Love always,_

_Harry_

_P.S. You might want to put a charm on this letter just in case it gets intercepted. I put a charm on this myself so don't be surprised if it asks for a strand of your hair. Miss you loads, Hermione. I can't wait to see you._

Harry rolled the letter up nicely and charmed it with a recognition charm, one he and Hermione had developed sometime during the war to send _very_ important letters to the Order. He felt bad about not keeping in touch with Hermione for an entire month but it was true that Ginny had been throwing a fit but it wasn't really about Fred.

Ginny had been throwing a fit about Hermione, specifically. The poor girl had been trying so hard not to show it, but every time Harry would mention his best friend's name, her demeanour would change. Sometimes, she would act snide towards him the entire day. It took Harry quite a while to understand why the girl had been acting like this. In the end, he realised that the months he had spent with Hermione had finally gotten to her ginger head. One night, when Ginny had gotten so smashed that she did a Hermione-impression, telling him things like, "Oh Harry, we should go to the library and snog while reading my newest edition of Hogwarts, A History!"

Gradually, he realised just how affected Ginny had been, having her boyfriend disappear with a girl for months and sleeping in the same room, same tent. Despite the fact that he had tried so very hard to explain to her that Ron had been with them, she wouldn't try to understand him. She had seen the way they acted towards each other, and it was quite easy for a spectator to believe that Hermione Granger fancied Harry Potter and/or vice-versa.

Grimmauld Place has been different since the aftermath of the war. Everyday had been a chance for him to meditate on things because of its sudden quietness. Sometimes he liked staying over the Burrow just for the company and the noise they made in the mornings: Molly's pans cleaning themselves after cooking for a family of nine.

The Weasley sons (and Fleur) have all decided to move back home for a while, perhaps a quiet attempt to pacify their mother after Fred's death. Arthur Weasley, on the other hand, had been trying to act as normally as possible. He had to; he had no choice but to remain strong for the family. Therefore, there was no chance for him to break at all.

Whenever Harry would come by, Ginny would make sure his full attention was on her. To make up for the lost time, was it? Did he really have to live the next few years of his life with the girl with such treatment for the sake of compensation? Frankly, he was getting tired; he missed staying up with his friends in Hogwarts—playing Wizard's Chess with Ron or listening to Hermione's lectures on the preposterousness of Divination.

Maybe, if this peace could go on forever, he wouldn't mind going back to Hogwarts. After all, the only reason why he was hesitant on going back to Hogwarts was mainly because he couldn't stand going back to school without Dumbledore or Snape there. Letting the boy outshine the man in him, he was afraid of going back to Hogwarts without feeling the same kind of security he once had with Dumbledore.

Harry spoke out loud to himself, "Surely, everything should be fine now, right?" He examined his scar on his forehead in the mirror. Tracing the scar slowly with his index finger—as though the gesture would make it disappear—he replied to himself, "Yeah, it should."

* * *

Hermione scrambled to her feet when she heard a light tapping on her window. Helga had come back with a reply to Harry's letter and clumsily left a handful of nuts on the windowsill.

"Could you stay here for a while, Helga? Need to scribble a reply to this," she gestured with the letter secure in her hand. The owl stared at her with its bright amber eyes and proceeded to begin to snack on the nuts.

_Harry,_

_Will make this quick. Please do come over. Here's my address:_

_#45 Granger Street, Wallowberry Road, London_

_See you in a while? Ah and I hope you don't mind me using Helga. I sent Sirius off for a day off. Also, do you happen to know if Ginny's mad at me? I've been thinking about writing her a letter but she seemed a bit cross in our last conversation at the Burrow. You know, during the wake? Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Anyway, we'll talk more when you get here._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

She folded the letter and tied it onto Helga's leg. With a quick peck on Hermione's finger, the owl quickly took flight, leaving the witch hopeful for a quick journey.

As much as Hermione wanted to apparate to Grimmauld place, it seemed almost impossible to do so for Mr. Granger would check up on her at the most random hours, making it impossible for her to escape. Especially nowadays when a stranger had brought her home the other night while she was completely drunk and wasted beyond her wits.

* * *

It had been a quiet at around 6PM at the Leaky Cauldron when Hermione apparated to its entrance. There were some witch and wizards that held up their glasses when she passed by but overall, it was a peaceful night.

One glass. Hermione had planned on buying _just_ one glass. And one glass she did buy (initially). Other glasses of Firewhiskey had come from "fans" and when those have been polished, she ordered a few more. Hermione scolded herself the next day for not being wary; someone could've slipped her a bad poison. It was only then that she realised how different being drunk was in a peaceful wizarding world from being drunk in a wizarding world where you could get killed any minute.

During those many nights she, Harry, and Ron had to guard the camp, one of the reasons why they resorted to Firewhiskey was to keep themselves warm. Hermione was disgusted at the idea at first, but eventually found refuge in Harry's self-filling flask.

Too many things had been floating in her mind that night. Draco Malfoy took the top spot. What was he doing in Muggle London? What was he doing, reading a book by the muggle, Neil Gaiman? Why did McGonagall want this boy as the Head Boy?

Without noticing, a man in a black coat sat beside her and ordered for a drink.

"Firewhiskey. And no ice, please," said a voice. Hermione knew that voice. No, it couldn't be. Could it?

"Malfoy?" Her voice oozed out like honey as she spoke. If she hadn't had too many glasses of Firewhiskey to drink, she would've shrieked at his presence.

He sat stiffly and contemplated whether he should or should not respond to a very, very tipsy Hermione Granger. "Yes, Granger. That's my name. Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing here? Aren't you underaged?" Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes seemed glossy. Something about Hermione Granger seemed different. Apart from her drunken state, something about her seemed to have changed. Was it small mannerisms she had that he only noticed now? How she would lift her chin up when talking or straighten her back every once in a while before it would collapse into a slouch? Was it the wobbly hand trying to sip from her drink or a scar on her arm—his eyes widened—that bore the word, _mudblood_.

"Seventeen is the legal age here, Granger. I'm not a muggle. And if you must know, I turned eighteen the other day." He drank from his glass slowly, peering over Hermione once in a while. He would feel wave after wave after wave of remorse every time she would raise her glass to her lips and the scar would flash at him as though it were silver.

"Ah. An eighteen-year-old Malfoy celebrating his coming-of-age by having a drink at Leaky Cauldron!" she slammed her palm on the wooden table and laughed—although Draco had no idea what on earth was so funny._ Strange girl, _he remarked.

"Keep your voice down. I'm not exactly the most favourite person in wizarding world," he hissed after noticing a few curious glances shot towards their direction.

"So you've been following me," said the drunken girl who had just ordered another glass. Draco wondered how many glasses she has had to become this version of Hermione Granger.

"I did not, Granger. Don't think that just because you saved the wizarding world alongside that pretty Potter boy and Weasley, everyone would want to get your autograph. Well, _they_ might want it. I just wanted to have a drink in peace."

"You were in Hatchards, Malfoy. I saw you reading _Stardust._"

Draco froze in his seat, remembering the wavy-haired girl back in the bookshop. He tried very hard to remember what the girl was wearing and it felt like he had slipped into a crack in a large frozen lake. "That was you?" was all he could muster.

"Glad you remember. Now tell me the truth. Why are you…" she poked his arm, "why are you following me?"

"I am _not_ following you, Granger. And before you say anything prejudiced about my reading a muggle book, I'll have you know that I've settled my differences with muggles." He eyed her warily, noticing that she could hardly lift her glass to her lips without struggling.

"O…kay then… I'll believe you if you tell me what you did to McGonagall for her to appoint you as Head Boy."

"Nothing, Granger. I myself am just as outraged as you. The emotional blackmail she infused in that bloody letter. Redemption? Does she honestly think that if I were to take on that responsibility, I'd actually be redeemed?"

But Hermione Granger wasn't listening at all anymore. In fact, she was sleeping—forehead rested on her forearm, facing him. He stared at her. Yes, she was pretty. He supposed she began taking care of her physical attributes after Viktor Krum had taken interest in her back in their Fourth Year.

Eyebrows plucked neatly, lips slightly dry but pink, long eyelashes, and a heart-shaped face. No wonder Weasley was head-over-heels for the muggleborn, he would, too—if she were a pureblood and Slytherin. Then again, Draco supposed that he'd hate her either way, given her bossy nature.

"Hey, Granger. Wake up. You're gonna make me look even more of a criminal here." He tried shaking her awake but to no avail. "Wake up, Granger." He shook her again.

When she mumbled in her sleep, he knew she wasn't waking up anytime soon. He paid for her drink and his and stood up, motioning to leave her behind when a young bartender called out to him, "Oy, wasn't she with you?"

An odd feeling came to him as the bartender flickered a menacing look at Hermione's sleeping form. He shouldn't leave her behind. "Actually, she is," said Draco much to the bartender's dismay.

He walked towards Hermione and tried to shake her again for the last time, "Granger." And when that didn't work, he propped her up (noting how heavy she was in dead weight). He supposed he could bring her to Malfoy Manor, but the chances of his father seeing a drunk Hermione Granger on his bed could lead to a series of hexes. Although it slightly disgusted him to do so, he began poking around her pockets for a possible identification card.

When he noticed a small pouch inside her pocket, he immediately knew what it was. Granger was known for putting charms on these kinds of things. He pulled the pouch out of her pocket and slowly sunk his arm inside the pouch. Draco wasn't surprised that he could feel a pile of books inside. There were soft things, a foamy piece of clothing. He finally felt a rectangular object (which he assumed was her wallet) and pulled it out of the pouch.

She had a credit card—something he learned muggles use to pay with instead of money. A bunch of other cards kept in snuggled in the pockets of the wallet and then in the last pocket, her driving licence with a non-moving photograph just below the Union Flag.

**Driving Licence**

1. Granger

2. Hermione Jean

3. 19-09-79 ENG

4a. 19-08-95 4b. 19-07-05 4c. DVLA

5. GRANGERN6192D83X04WYEN

7. _Hermione Granger_

8. #45 Granger Street, Wallowberry, London NW10 8QT

9. B,C1,D1,BE,C1E,D1E,_f,k,l,n,p_

What an odd identification card, he thought. It was missing number 6. He squinted at the randomness of the numbers and letters on the card and somehow, it made his head hurt as though he were studying ancient runes. Nonetheless, he brought the dead weight over his back and clutching tightly to her thighs, he apparated to the Granger Residence.

Though a year into apparating, Draco still could still not stand the aftershock he'd get from an apparition. The feeling was reminiscent to a void sucking you from inside. His stomach would hurt for a few seconds and after relaxing for another few, the pain would go away.

Now, when Draco Malfoy appeared into #45 Granger Street with a half-conscious Hermione Granger on his back, Mr. Granger was having his fourth cup of tea. He also wasn't exactly thrilled to have a loud rapping on the door at ten in the evening. This is why doorbells were created.

Draco Malfoy could've sworn that if Hermione's father were a wizard, he'd have already thrown an Unforgivable in the first five minutes of explaining why his daughter was unconscious.

"Mr. Granger, is it? Uh your daughter." Draco handed an unconscious Hermione to her father, "She, uh, had way too much Firewhiskey."

"Who are you?"

"I don't know her and she doesn't know me. Your daughter—" he most definitely

had to lie "—her wallet was in her coat. It had an identification card with your address."

"Well, good gracious. I apologize for this inconvenience my daughter has caused you. May I offer you a cup of tea before you go?"

"No, that shouldn't be necessary. I should get going. Good evening."

"Good evening. And thank you."

Draco noticed she mumbled a lot in her sleep. Draco also noticed that she smelled nice. He stared at her sleeping face a bit and nodded once at Mr. Granger then turned around to motion down the steps towards the gate. The door closed quietly and with that, the lone wizard disappeared with a faint pop.

* * *

Hermione had no recollection of what had happened that night. All she knew was that she woke up to a very, very angry Mr. Granger. Without the need for an actual conversation about the previous night, she knew her chances of convincing her parents about going back to Hogwarts diminished.

A silent war was definitely what the situation was called. She could only hope for her best friend to save her from this nightmare. It was unlike her to do all this. Hermione Jean Granger was the good daughter, the good student. Going home drunk and not remembering _how_ she had gotten home was out of character.

She had been spending most of her time knitting, reading, practicing spells, and just about anything, anything to get her mind off the boredom and her voluntary grounding. There were no other new books to read; she had already finished reading _Stardust._ Every corner of her room had piles of books and some of them had begun falling apart from being over-read.

Her eyelids grew heavy, feeling the effects of an absolutely warm afternoon. Little did she know that in a matter of seconds, she would shoot awake from a loud crack emanating from her room and would echo throughout the entirety of #45 Granger Street.

**A/N: I love getting prompts from gmail about follows, favourites, and most of all, reviews. So please leave _Adaptation _more reviews. These little things make me want to write multiple chapters in a week!**


	7. Meet the Grangers

**Chapter 6: Meet the Grangers**

"Bloody hell!" Hermione cursed, falling out of her bed upon the arrival of her dearest friend. The skinny boy was wearing an oversized shirt with the Gryffindor emblem and a pair of jeans that had holes in it.

"Hullo to you as well, Hermione," Harry chuckled, not expecting this kind of greeting. Upon examining her wardrobe, he blushed at the absence of her trousers. She eventually stopped minding these things. The war had brought forth a new understanding amongst the three friends. Having no time for dressing up nicely, there were quite a number of instances that Hermione, Harry, and Ron had to dress up in the same room, forgetting to cover up due to a constant fear for their lives. They were always on the go, and on the go meant not being as meticulous about certain things.

Eventually, Harry, Ron, and Hermione became comfortable with each other, learning certain qualities about each other that they hadn't discovered before—how Hermione liked sleeping in her knickers, how Ron couldn't sleep without socks on (even though it'd be summer), or how Harry drove his nightmares away by keeping an old toy resized to the size of a large piece of lint in his right pocket.

Hermione also despised brushing her hair, which Harry later gradually learned, as she seemed to have developed a sour mood in mornings when she attempted to brush her hair. He had to admit, he missed Hermione Granger, his best friend that he considered family.

"I didn't mean that. I was just surprised is all. You ought to control your apparitions, Harry. Muggles don't like loud noises." They both laughed.

What great timing Harry had! While Mr. and Mrs. Granger would very much love to spend most of their time at home, looking after their _rebellious _daughter, they had work. There were teeth to clean and dental surgeries to perform. This side of the world was quite busy.

The two friends spent a good hour catching up cuddled in bed after Harry set a cooling charm in the room. Hermione told Harry about seeing Malfoy in a muggle bookshop, her woes about being Head Girl, about Malfoy being Head Boy, about Ron and his being indifferent towards her. The affinity they had for each other was irreplaceable, a remarkable platonic relationship that was almost always easily misconstrued by spectators who did not consider the foundation of their friendship.

"You still haven't tried talking to Ron? Ron and Ginny have been at sixes and sevens."

"What's going on with Ginny?"

"I reckon it's just the aftershock from the war that's gotten her in a nark but she's not too fond of us being friends at the moment."

He nodded.

"Us? Did you mean you and I? Why ever would she think that?"

"I've no idea."

A long pause ensued. They lay together as Harry slowly fell asleep while nuzzled against Hermione's neck. Hermione was awake, on the other hand, aware of all the sounds around them. She could tell that the boy had troubles sleeping; his eye bags were worse than during the war. Harry wasn't the type of person to instantly relax. In fact, she knew he was afraid that there were still Death Eaters out there, waiting for the right time to avenge their master. He snored lightly and his breath tickled her neck.

She quietly slipped away and went downstairs for a cup of tea. She was especially fond of this can of tealeaves her mother had left unattended for months until she (Hermione) had decided to try what ever Darjeeling was. To her delight, she was able to find a favourite.

The water boiled for what seemed like half an hour (though it was only a few good seconds) as she began pondering on the pros and cons of escaping her way back to Hogwarts. If she suddenly were to go to Hogwarts, chances are, she'd have no home to go back to upon graduating. Maybe it had been the numerous years she had spent away that she had forgotten just _how_ to handle her own parents.

Right now, her mum and dad had become complete strangers to her. No matter how fun Hogwarts had been, the repercussions manifested itself in subtle ways. Her mother hadn't been there when she had her first period. The books she had read gave her an ample amount of information on how menstruation worked, but it did not explain when exactly menarche would occur and how a teenage girl should react to it. There were no pads or tampons available and she had no idea how to transfigure an object for these purposes. Poor teenage Hermione had to ask Harry to go to Madam Pomfrey for a sanitary pad because she was _bleeding _(Ron was having a fit so he obviously couldn't do it.

She was thirteen then, Hermione cried out of mortification because she had no idea that Parvati, Lavender, and a couple of other students had been sniggering at the large stain on her pants she had been walking in for hours during their Hogsmeade trip. Harry was kind enough to lend her his invisibility cloak that day.

Mrs. Granger also hadn't been there when she had first begun being conscious of her physical appearance during her fourth year, the same year Viktor Krum had taken a fancy on her. By a stroke of luck as compromise after being struck by the Densaugeo spell, Madam Pomfrey had magically shrunk her teeth, making it unnecessary to get braces that following summer. It was also Madam Pomfrey who suggested that she tried Sleekeazy's Hair Potion for her hair.

Nevertheless, she was still far too shy to ask for love advice from an older figure. The books she read were filled with complete bollocks—follow your heart or act naturally, whom were these writers kidding?

Letters and presents sent via owl were substitutes for their presents on her birthdays for seven consecutive years. There were even some Christmas holidays that she opted to spend at school because she'd rather spend it at the library to finish all of her Christmas homework. Naturally, Mr. and Mrs. Granger didn't argue. They wouldn't. She'd like to think that they loved their daughter studied well.

Hermione didn't know much about their lives until she noticed a different tension during one Christmas break when she had turned fifteen. Suspecting a squabble, she had tried to talk to her parents about it but Mr. Granger dismissed it, saying it was just a couple of differences and resumed to planning their skiing trip. Hermione was unable to pursue finding out what had happened that holiday break as she received a letter from Albus Dumbledore saying how Arthur Weasley had been attacked while guarding the Department of Mysteries. Immediately, she had cancelled their trip and took the Knight Bus to join the Weasleys and Harry for the holidays.

Was their marriage all right? Did they ever think about not wanting their daughter in Hogwarts? Were they really proud of her being a witch or were they honestly terrified but rather had her believe that they were proud? Part of her felt the remorse seeping in but part of her felt that she _needed_ to go back, that there were many years ahead of them to catch up on life.

She poured the hot water into the teapot and let the tealeaves stuffed in a metal tea strainer steep. The can of Darjeeling stared at her and she stared back. "What do I do?" she asked aloud and although she did not expect an answer, a voice replied, "What do you do about what?"

It was Harry. The same, bespectacled Harry Potter. "You've risen from the dead!" Hermione jokingly said while grabbing another cup for him.

"Sorry, fell asleep. Didn't mean to. Haven't been sleeping well, is all." He fixed his glasses and pulled a seat across her. The exhaustion channelled itself in a staring contest with the periwinkle blue tea cosy.

"All right?" asked Hermione and poured him tea after it had steeped.

"It's the war, I think. Maybe I'm not too convinced that it's over."

"I knew you would think that. But Harry, you can't keep living your life anxiously. You survived Voldemort. I honestly don't think anything more can harm you."

"But what if a Death Eater's son or daughter from Slytherin was instructed to harm the school again because I was there? I don't think I can handle anymore, Hermione. I just want a normal life now."

"Well, everything is fine now, Harry. I don't know about normal. I don't think you've ever _had_ normal. Even way back before you knew who you were, a muggle wouldn't consider the Dursley's treatment towards you, normal."

"Exactly, and I understand that not-normal _is_ normal for me… but I've always wanted something less-flashy. Take Neville, for example, nobody's gonna ask him how he lost the fat in his cheeks the way random people ask me about my scar. They treat me like I'm some artefact, Hermione. The kind that everyone just wants to touch or see. I don't even mind if I go back to living like a bleeding muggle again."

"Harry, you're going to have to start living with that for the rest of your life. I mean, I know I will. Imagine going down the street having people you don't know asking you how you became friends with the great Harry Potter—oh I don't mean it that way, don't misunderstand…" Hermione sighed and continued, "It's just that in the beginning, it was fun being known as the brave Hermione Granger who fought beside the Boy Who Lived, but the rumours about us and some favours asking to meet you became cumbersome. I realised that I had to be a little more careful, I suppose."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I never knew…"

"No, it's quite all right. I've learned to live with it. See, I had already accepted it back in fourth year when the rumours began. Of course the requests to use me as a connection between them and you came after the war."

"Which makes me think that I _don't _want to go back to Hogwarts. Apart from the Death Eater anxiety, I don't think I can handle so much stress from those things. Not now, at least."

"I know that people think I'm cheeky and that I want to go back because I want to study my N.E.W.T.s which, of course, I don't deny. But a bigger reason as to why I want to go back is because I want to spend my last year in Hogwarts properly with you and Ron. There are so many things we would miss out on: our graduation, getting our N.E.W.T.s results, spending our last Hogsmeade trip as students, and I don't want to lie but I also want to be Head Girl, no matter who the Head Boy is. I've spent my entire six years in Hogwarts fantasizing how I'd be responsible for the student body. I want to be a student, Harry. These thoughts make me want to go back."

He remained quiet for a while and finally said, "I guess I'd like to see Gryffindor beat Slytherin's arse again for the House Cup and I do miss Quidditch… and I miss your nagging—don't look at me like that as if it's not true—about homework. Yeah, I miss Hogwarts. It's always made me feel like it was my home when #14 Privet Drive didn't."

"Because it _is_ home." Hermione reached out for his hand, stroking it with a reassuring smile on her face. Her eyes watered at the sentimentality of their conversation.

"I suppose… it shouldn't hurt to go home, huh?"

"Of course not, Harry." The silence decided for them; they were going home. After a while of talking about muggle topics such as technology and the digital age, Harry finally cracked the ice and said, "Why is Malfoy Head Boy? McGonagall's off her trolley!"

"I'd like to think that she wouldn't make such a rash decision. She's not one to decide something to the detriment of the school."

* * *

Meanwhile, Mrs. Granger arrived home just in time to make supper when she heard Hermione speaking to somebody in the kitchen. It was most definitely not her husband; his car hadn't been parked outside, so she assumed Hermione had a guest.

She sighed in exhaustion after spending the day in Downtown London for a convention for Dentists. Mr. Granger wasn't able to join her due to a packed schedule of four dental surgeries in a day.

"Harry, you don't understand. They might disown me if I go back to Hogwarts. I _obliviated_ their memories and sent them to Australia. Even though I've tried many, many times to explain to them how necessary it was, they wouldn't hear any of it."

"Maybe I could try talking to them for you, Hermione. I honestly don't think they'd disown you. Escaping is not the best way out of this; they're still your parents."

"The boy's right, Hermione," Mrs. Granger came into the kitchen still with her blue dental uniform on. The two teenagers fumbled to their feet and Harry almost spilled the tea in his cup.

"Mum!" "Mrs. Granger!" they exclaimed simultaneously.

"Harry Potter, yes? We've met once. Though we haven't been formally introduced. Unless, you suppose, a quick wave at King's Cross might count. Please call me Jane." Their eyes followed her as she motioned to the counter for a cup.

"I hope you don't mind my invading into your little tea party. But I'm quite exhausted. Was at a dental conference—ah it's a this large meeting they have for people who fix teeth and—"

"He knows what dentists are, mum, Harry's half-blood. Meaning he's half-muggle, half-wizard."

"Right, right. So about Hogwarts…"

"Mrs. Granger, er, Jane, being Head Girl is the highest responsibility given to a student. She's dreamed of this ever since we were first years. I wish you'd give it some thought. She's the brightest witch of our age; Hermione Granger cannot miss the N.E.W.T.s—it's the exams we've to take to land a career after graduating from seventh year. She'll have too much potential wasted."

"Newts? Like the reptile newt?"

"Mum, it stands for Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests."

"Odd acronym. Still, it's up to her father. You see, he wasn't exactly very fond of her… heroism. I don't understand what kind of danger there is in that world of yours, but we fear for her." She sipped her tea and turned to Hermione, "He just doesn't want to lose you because of… magic."

"Jane, there _is_ no danger. Well, there is as much danger now as there is in the muggle world—maybe even less. It's quite parallel. Just that we have magic to defend ourselves and muggles have airbags and pepper spray."

"The war is over, mum. Harry defeated the Dark Lord and I know it seems quite fictitious, but it's true. We almost _died_ defending the wizarding and the muggle world but here we are, still alive."

"We can't afford to lose you, Hermione, especially in a world we don't know of. Imagine sending your daughter to a country you've never been to or seen even on the telly, a country you can't even visit. Every time we send you off to that ridiculous-sounding platform in King's Cross we fear that you may never come back." Mrs. Granger dabbed her eye with her coat. "It's difficult having to send a daughter to such an alien place, not being able to see her as we please and only an _owl_ to keep us connected!" The word, owl, came out in a high-pitched shriek.

Harry's hand rose to Mrs. Granger's back and he slowly stroked it as she sobbed, wishing he had a mother like Mrs. Granger—a mother who was alive, who would have such anxieties, who would call him by his name in such an endearing tone. It was all too human for him. He now understood Mrs. Weasley's grief, a mother's grief of actually losing her child.

"I know we had just met, Mrs. Granger. But I'll have you know that I will continue to do my best in protecting Hermione as she has with me. We've protected each other all these years and we don't intend on giving up just because the war is over. Please help us convince Mr. Granger in having her go back to Hogwarts and I promise you I will gladly swear upon my life that I will let her not come across any harm from hereon out." Harry's bold statement made Hermione's jaw fall right open.

"What a nice boyfriend you've here, dear." Mrs. Granger giggled and cleared her throat after Hermione and Harry retorted in unison, "We're just friends!"

"Now, Harry," she paused to collect her thoughts for a while then continued, "I know that you're saying all these grand words just to convince me, but I do also hope that you consider how your parents feel. You have a mother just like me, a normal human being. I know that she knows how I feel."

"Um… Mum, Harry's parents are d—"

"My parents are dead, Mrs. Granger, I don't even have memories of them except for when they were murdered. But I know how you feel. My Aunt Petunia—she was a muggle along with the rest of her family—didn't like the idea of magic at all. She thought we were, well, mad. The thing about magic is…" Harry's voice trailed off as he produced a corpeal Patronus with non-verbal magic. Mrs. Granger's eyes widened and watched the bright-white, translucent stag walk around the kitchen. "It has the power to save and protect people in many ways that muggles cannot."

"What in the bleeding world is _that?_" Mrs. Granger's voice was quiet and her hands trembled as she tried to sip from her cup while watching the stag draw near the table.

"That is a Patronus, mum. I can produce one, as well. Look. _Expecto Patronum._" A bright-white, translucent otter sprung in the air and landed on the table. "It can protect us from two of the darkest magical creatures there is."

"Put those things away. Someone might see. They're unusually bright. Put them out, now!" Mrs. Granger ordered and immediately, the two bright creatures vanished in thin air as though they had diffused.

"Mrs. Granger, I've spent seven years with Hermione and every year, we'd encounter a difficult situation and most times, she would be the one to save me with her intellect."

"And Harry has saved me with his blinding skill in magic far too many times. I'm safe, mum. You've to trust us."

"I must be bonkers," she muttered to herself. "All right, you have my vote. But I can't guarantee your father's vote."

* * *

"Vote on what?" Mr. Granger stood by the entrance of the kitchen. He was wearing a blue dental uniform as well.

"That seems to be happening a lot today," Harry whispered to Hermione.

"The kids want to go back to Hogwarts, Howard," said Mrs. Granger as she rose from her chair and motioned for the door. "They have a lot to say. Best boil another pot of tea, love." She kissed him on the cheek.

"And where are you going?" Mr. Granger asked his wife.

"Going to change so I can start preparing supper. Ah, Harry, you'll be having dinner here, yes?" Harry nodded. "All right, dinner for four, then." And the moment Mrs. Granger had left the room, the air surrounding Harry, Hermione, and Howard Granger suddenly became very, very still. Slowly, Mr. Granger made his way to the table and pulled a seat for himself.

"I'm Harry Potter, Mr. Granger." Harry rose from his seat and extended his hand to shake his. "Please call me Howard."

Hermione kept her head down and focused her gaze on the lukewarm Darjeeling that had stilled in her porcelain teacup.

"Are you going to start speaking at all?" Mr. Granger's voice was completely foreign to Harry. It was far too different from the father's voice (Mr. Weasley's) he had been so fond of; Howard Granger's voice was raspy, strong. It didn't have the same kind of tone that Vernon Dursley used when talking to his son, Dudley, nor did it have the same kind of gentleness Arthur Weasley used to joke around with his children. To say that Harry was intimidated would be an understatement.

"I want to go back to Hogwarts, dad," Hermione spoke, her voice wavering.

"Codswallop," said Mr. Granger with no hesitation at all.

"Mr. Granger, if you truly cared for the welfare of your daughter, you would allow her to return to school. This is her future we're talking about. You may not know it, sir, but your daughter is the brightest witch of her age. The entire wizarding community looks up to her, sir. And that's no exaggeration."

"Dear boy, I do understand that you want your girlfriend back in school with you. I've been there myself—"

"We're just friends!" Harry and Hermione exclaimed in unison.

"Right. Nevertheless, my decision will remain firm. I will not let my daughter be harmed anymore. You know the kind of danger she's gone through; you've gone through it as well. I mean, look at her arm!" He snatched Hermione's arm and pulled the sleeve up to reveal the scar, _mudblood._ "This most definitely speaks for _that_ lot and their perception of _normal people._"

"Mr. Granger, sir, the war is over. The people who caused us harm are all dead or hiding in shame. As ridiculous as it sounds to me as it is to you, the wizarding world is at peace." Little by little, Harry realised that he was convincing himself in the process of convincing Hermione's father.

"Dad, it's been my dream to become Head Girl. I can't miss N.E.W.T.s either. It's the only way I can land a decent career." Hermione tightly squeezed Harry's hand under the table.

"Sir, I've been protecting Hermione for seven years now and I do not intend to not do so just because the war is over. I don't have a family anymore; my mother, father, and their close friends were all murdered by the Dark Lord and his followers. The only relatives I've been introduced to as a child abandoned me amidst the war. Sir, Hermione and Ron are the only family I have left. I've no intention to put them into any more danger. Frankly, we've all had enough adventures for one lifetime." Harry squeezed her hand back.

Howard Granger was usually a stern man, but a passing mention of any deaths made his heart's hard exterior crumble. What a strong boy, he thought. But how in the world was he to entrust his daughter's life to this skinny, raven-haired boy?

"Does the location of your school have reception for mobile phones?"

"I'm not so sure. I can ask Professor McGonagall. But if Hogwarts doesn't, I promise you to write once a week."

Mr. Granger, still, was unconvinced.

"Three times a week," Harry piped and Hermione shot him a look.

"Three times a week and you have to make sure to go home on Christmas Break. No excuses about homework," said Mr. Granger.

"I can go back to Hogwarts?" Hermione whispered to herself in quiet disbelief. "I CAN GO BACK TO HOGWARTS!" Her pitch went up to two octaves, which made Mrs. Granger rush downstairs to see what the commotion was about.

"What is going on? Are you okay?" Mrs. Granger's eyes were surrounded with smeared with eyeliner she was unable to take off properly.

"I'm going back, mum. I'm going back to Hogwarts to finish my seventh year with Harry and Ron!" Harry had never seen Hermione so sincerely happy. She had tears in her eyes as she twirled around with her mother, swinging their arms in joy, chanting, _Hogwarts! Hogwarts! Hogwarts!_

Harry wished he had something like this. The Granger family was an intimate compared to the Weasleys. They had animated dinner conversations about politics and things he had never known about his friend. Mrs. Granger's shepherd's pie contained very little salt and her mashed potatoes had small lumps to chew.

"Hermione cried the first time she found out she was a witch. She'd never been so happy in her life. Poor girl never really had many friends—always thought she was a nutter, that one." Mr. Granger offered Harry a glass of wine.

"Oh, thank you." Harry took a sip and continued, "They always called me a freak back in Privet Drive. For a while I lived with my muggle relatives. My mum's sister, Petunia, didn't have magical abilities and she hated her for it—which made Aunt Petunia hate _me_ for being a little odd. I reckon she knew I was a wizard way before Dumbledore sent me that letter."

"In your Aunt's defence, she must've wanted to become a witch so badly. God knows even I want to be able to do magic. Life is hard in the _normal _world."

"It's not easy there either. I mean, for me, at least. I dunno about Hermione but—" Harry refilled Mr. Granger's glass with Shiraz. "But it was hard adapting in a world you had absolutely no information about. I didn't even know my parents were magical folk. Always thought they died in a car crash."

"How did they die anyway?" Mr. Granger had a faint idea that the boy's parents were murdered, but he was relieved that he mentioned it again. There was a mysterious aura around Harry Potter and Howard couldn't exactly point what.

"They were murdered by Voldemort, the Dark Lord—don't worry, he's dead now. Happened when I was an infant, couldn't really remember much 'cept the flash of green light."

"This Dark Lord… he was the reason Hermione had to trick us into going to Australia?"

"Yeah. Caused us a whole lot of trouble for seven years. I'm glad he's gone. I'm glad it's all over now."

"Who do you live with now, boy?"

"Myself, sir. In my late godfather's house."

"He died?"

"Yeah. Killed by one of Voldemort's followers, sir."

* * *

"I have to get new robes, mum. My robes are far too small for me," said Hermione as she and her mother cleaned the dishes. Both the females in the household were rather meticulous when it came to cleaning things. Sure, Hermione could use magic to easily clean the house but she found comfort in cleaning things manually.

"Let's get you new shoes, too."

"All right. That's a good idea."

"Is Harry staying the night? Should I get a mattress ready?"

"You can put the mattress in my room."

"Might have you forgotten that you're a woman?"

"Don't worry, mum. Harry, Ron, and I have stayed in the same tent and have slept in the same room for about a year during the war. He'll need the company, mum. He hasn't been sleeping well."

"Those bags under his eyes are heavier than a spoonful of potatoes."

Hermione sighed and peered over to check the pair of squiffy men. She never knew that her father was one to serve alcohol. In fact, she never thought her father was one to even _drink_ alcohol. Looking at the two made her feel rather distant to her own father. Surely, this year's goodbye for Hogwarts would be immensely different.

"Leave the door open, then," said Mrs. Granger. She slightly tugged on Hermione's shirt, nodding in Harry and her husband's direction. There was a quiet understanding that a mother and a daughter always had; sometimes, they say, constantly talking isn't communicating.

Mrs. Granger grabbed two wine glasses and took a seat beside her husband, Hermione beside Harry.

"All right, Harry?" Hermione smiled at him and her best friend smiled back. They were going back to Hogwarts. They really were.

"Never better."

**A/N: Cheers to you, dear reader, for sticking with me for the first six chapters of **_**Adaptation**_**. We're finally here; we're going to Hogwarts (or perhaps one more chapter before going to Hogwarts)! That was a bit of a long chapter. Actually, it's the longest chapter yet. I hope you're just as excited as I am. Do leave me a review and please share this story with your friends!**

**Right, a response to Orchid Rollo – Hi, yes, I am going to take the development between Hermione and Draco very slowly (as all relationships should be). In regard to Ginny's characterization in this story, a segment of the next chapter should deal with that. Also, regarding Felix Grimmauld… we'll see.**

—**Anne Kerouac**


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